


Numb

by FatlockFills



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Eating, Fatlock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Omegalock, Omegaverse, Teenage Pregnancy, Weight Gain, a/b/o dynamics, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 05:10:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2257035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FatlockFills/pseuds/FatlockFills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft never expected to be a statistic on teenage pregnancy, but now he's waiting out the clock and waiting for a baby he doesn't feel connected to to be born. The ice over his heart can only start to break when their gardener's son makes a bold move.</p>
            </blockquote>





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The country house always managed to look disapproving. There was something about the way the curtains were drawn over the small, rectangular windows that reminded Mycroft of a prison. Then the baby kicked, and that thought slid away from him. He blinked himself back to the world, one hand rubbing his stomach, fighting a surge of nausea, and found that Mummy’s chatter had come full circle. He might not have missed a word. 

"We’ll have to open up your old nursery and give it a proper airing. I don’t know where we’re going to store all the things left over from before, but the little one isn’t going to need it all for a good few years. Still, waste not want not, so I’ll see if we can get rid of some of the antiques in the attic…" She pulled into the drive, parking closer than she had to to the doors. "I mean, they’re two hundred years old but needs must, Mycie, pull your shirt down when you get out—"

 

Mycroft turned off her voice like a switch in his mind, blocking her out while he slid to the edge of the seat and very carefully heaved himself out of the car. His center of gravity was so low now that he couldn’t stand without grunting, and he stood still for a moment when he was standing; his balance wasn’t as good these days. He did tug down his shirt. The largest size of uniform from his academy wasn’t exactly maternity wear; it pulled across his belly and emphasized how soft he’d become over the last seven months. 

He turned his face to the wind. It smelled fresh here, at least. If the house was a prison the grounds were not, and the air brushed through cared for trees and a manicured lawn before it got to him, ruffling his hair and bringing a fresh smell that he hadn’t breathed in months. The air at the academy was always a bit tainted from the motorway. 

Then the door was opening, and his father was coming to collect the bags, and Mycroft was shooed inside and upstairs (he used to bound up these stairs, hardly breathing heavy at the top, and now he waddled up with one hand on the small of his back and the other cupping his belly) to have a lay down before dinner. He didn’t argue that he wasn’t tired; it was better than being with his family. 

——

"Mummy’s not sending me to boarding school if I’m an Omega." Sherlock sprawled over Mycroft’s bed, one hand propping up his head. 

"Of course not. You might get pregnant too." Mycroft sat at his desk, but he didn’t look at any of the lists in front of him. His parents were firm that he think of the future, that he look at certification programs or other jobs he could do, that he have a plan for how to take care of himself and his baby. Obviously, this was in the future, but it was never too early for him to start planning. Today these plans held less interest for him than the sparrow family in the branches outside his window. It was late in the season for young hatchlings, but they seemed healthy enough. A pretty, sharply feathered sparrow appeared, nudging the nest-guarder aside to poke soft caterpillars down the throats of cheeping youngsters. 

"I doubt it. I’m never going to have a baby, even if I am an Omega." Sherlock gave Mycroft a critical once over that he could practically feel on his skin, even though he could only see the suggestion of his younger brother out of the corner of his eye. 

"That’s what everyone thinks." 

"I’m not everyone." Sherlock said it like it was the epitome of cleverness. 

"My mistake." Mycroft rose, stripping off his shirt and putting on a looser tee, complete with ruffles over the belly that made him look (in his estimation) like a poorly decorated cake. 

"Where are you going?" Sherlock sat up on the bed, prepared to follow his brother until he was told ‘for a walk.’ "I’ll just wait for you here." 

"Fine," Mycroft said, before waddling his way out the door. 

——

There was a stream that edged through the back half of the property. It wasn’t very large, but it made for adequate swimming most summers as Mycroft’s father had dug in a series of deeper pools some years before. The water was always frightfully cold, but there were still double handfuls of days every summer when that came as a relief. Today it wasn’t quite warm enough; there was too much of a breeze. Besides, Mummy would never allow it. Still, it was to the stream that Mycroft made his way, a plastic grocery bag with a bottle of ginger ale and a box of biscuits and a packet of crisps slapping into his thigh with every step. 

There was a thicket of greens by the stream; trees, and shrubs, and long grass mixed together to make it look something like a proper forest, even if it only lasted for a few yards. In the thicket it was possible to hear someone calling from the house; as Mycroft settled down to awkward strip the shoes and socks from his swollen ankles and sore toes he could hear the hum of the electric mower far off, probably in the front of the house, and the snick, snick, snick of tree branches getting lopped off much closer. He didn’t think anything of it; the gardening crew was here again, but they wouldn’t come here; here, the plants were allowed to do what they willed. 

He settled down on the edge of the stream. The water was unpleasantly cold at first, but that passed into numbness that matched the interior of him. Sometime between a smuggled in pregnancy tests had had Mycroft Holmes reducing to pressing his palms flat against his face to muffle the sobs in a boarding school lavatory and the time he had arrived home, graduated, to be henpecked and harried the last two months before his son was born he’d gone away. Just stepped out of things, brilliant mind finally quieted into a numbness and waiting that was not happy, but also wasn’t despair. There had been a lot of despair at first. Disappointment. Shame. He was glad that now it could only be described as “not happy.” He set the food out, but didn’t eat it. He wedged the bottle of ginger ale very firmly into a shallow pool in the stream to keep it chilled, and then lay back and closed his eyes. 

—-

"Oh!" 

Mycroft’s eyes opened with a start, and he actually sat up fairly suddenly. The stretched muscles on either side of his abdomen screamed out, and one hand grabbed his belly while the other flailed backwards, supporting him. He looked back over his shoulder, heart thumping in his chest. 

There was a young man there—a young Alpha, Mycroft realized when the rising evening wind brought the heavy, musky scent of Alpha sweat to him. Mycroft had drifted to sleep, but not for that long—an hour, maybe, not more than 90 minutes. 

"Oh, hey, um. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…" The Alpha shuffled his feet, and Mycroft blinked a couple more times. His mind felt sluggish all the time now, but it stirred enough to throw up a name to the face before him. It was Gregory Lestrade, their gardener’s son. He’d worked with his father after school all the time, until he’d gone away to Uni. He must be off for the summer.

"I’m not scared." Mycroft sat up all the way, yanking his completely numbed feet out of the stream. He frowned. There were going to be some serious pins and needles before he could walk away. "What are you doing back here?" 

"I, um." Gregory slicked his hair back. It was damp with fragrant sweat. "It’s almost time to go home. I usually come back here and have a bit of a dip before I take off." 

"Oh. Go ahead." Mycroft rubbed at his feet; his skin felt like seal skin beneath his fingers; cold and wet and rubbery. 

"No, thanks." Gregory shuffled his feet but didn’t walk away. Mycroft lifted his head to arch his eyebrows at him, but couldn’t fight off a faint blush to his cheeks as well. The longer the Alpha stood there the more disconcerted he was. 

"Well, thanks for doing the trees," he finally said in an effort to get the young Alpha moving. 

"Congratulations," Gregory blurted. 

"What?" 

"Congratulations. On your mate and baby." Gregory’s eyes flicked obviously to the mount of belly that Mycroft still held in one hand. And while he’d normally have let that pass, Mycroft found himself shaking his head. 

"Just the baby, actually." His words were light, but there was bitterness in his voice he couldn’t mask. 

"Oh." Greg edged forward, crossing to the stream and sticking his hands into the clear, cold water. Little rivers of muck clouded the clear water when he rubbed them together. "Sorry about that." 

"It’s fine. It’s just how things happen. He was just some boarding school Alpha following his instincts."

"Did he say he loved you?" Gregory didn’t look away from his hands, even when Mycroft snorted. 

"Of course he did. I didn’t believe him." Mycroft hissed as the warm air finally thawed his toes. 

"But you…"

"I wanted to have sex. And I didn’t think it would happen to me." 

"Getting pregnant?" 

"Getting ruined. Fat, stupid, contemptible, ugly, finished. Used up. Losing everything. And he never even gave me an orgasm. I traded my life for nothing." It all came out, poured out with a pain through his chest, but a little relief too. He felt like he’d thrust a pin through his hand and hit a buried cyst; pus and blood were coming up, but it was a healing hurt. He closed his eyes and waited for Gregory to leave. 

The press of Gregory’s hands was a shock; they’d been under the cold water, and Mycroft jumped when they took his hand. His eyes flew open, and he found himself staring at an Alpha not five inches from his face. “You’re not ruined. You’re gorgeous.” Gregory pressed closer. “Fertile, round, soft, warm. Ample. Perfect. So perfect that I just want to give you something, okay?” 

"What?" Mycroft’s voice tried to be wary and came out a whisper. His mouth was dry, and Gregory was so close all he could smell was Alpha and the dirt of his parents’ garden. 

"That orgasm you never got." Greg’s hands were still cool when they dropped to Mycroft’s hips, pressing through thin fabric. His shirt had ridden up, exposing a slice of thick paunch, pink stretch marks like lightening bolts over the pale white skin. Mycroft’s breath hitched, and Greg looked back up. "Free," he promised. "Nothing in return. Not even a glass of lemonade for your gardener." 

Mycroft scooted back a little, and Greg let him go, but then he stopped—he’d just moved back from the water’s edge so that Greg could slip between his legs. The Alpha did so, and pressed him back against the soft, long grass. He pushed Mycroft’s shirt up, exposing the huge globe of belly he’d grown, the bottoms of his soft peaks of chest, the lip of fat that even his roomiest trousers pushed up. Greg’s breath was hot on his stomach as he undid the simple clasp on Mycroft’s trousers. 

"God, you’re big." Gregory licked a line across Mycroft’s soft, flabby paunch, starting on one hip and ending at the other. The Omega’s cock twitched, and Greg laughed. "You like that, hmm? Someone finally paying attention to how fat you’ve gotten? How gorgeous you’ve become since some rich bastard knocked you up?" 

Mycroft’s fingers twisted into the grass after that, because Greg wasn’t talking anymore—he was using his mouth for things that were far more intense. Things the one and only Alpha Mycroft had been with before would never have done for him; he’d tried to get Mycroft to give him a blowjob once, and Mycroft had agreed, and now saw that his technique was utterly shit. This was how it was supposed to be; Gregory’s tongue swirled around the tip of his cock, and he sucked in well timed bursts that made Mycroft feel like the world was fading in and out. He let go of the grass with one hand, pressing his palm against his mouth to muffle his sounds. Behind his hand his breath came in pants and whines, rising to an intense point, until Greg was swallowing and Mycroft was squealing as he came, thoughts unraveling, thighs clenching, and he rode that feeling through every bucking spasm, barely aware that he was jiggling and shivering for this Alpha he barely knew. 

While he was still panting, eyes closed, Greg buttoned up his trousers and pressed a kiss first to that perfectly round belly and secondly to his forehead. “If you want to see me again, you know where I go after work,” he whispered, and got up, leaving Mycroft to lay in an almost daze as Greg splashed his face and hands clean in the stream and hurried to join the gardeners as they left. 

Mycroft smiled beneath the trees, body loosely jointed, numb with a spreading happiness.

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said: Prompt request thing! :] Please please PLEASE give me a very heavily pregnant teenage Mycroft meeting Greg for the first time since he started showing (maybe he attends a boarding school and he's home for spring break or something, idk) and he's super self-conscious about his extra chub and big round belly, but Greg thinks he's absolutely gorgeous. I know it's pretty fluffy, but if you want to go a bit heavier on the kink that's totally cool, I don't mind! :3


End file.
